I also think a lot of people got them as Christmas gifts this year (just like me), as I'm spotting a lot more of them on my commute to and from work each day. If you're alone anywhere and you want to strike up a conversation, all you have to do is haul your Kindle out and someone will be asking you about it in minutes.

I like mine so much that I finally convinced my financial advisor that Amazon was a good buy right now... and, after she did the research and realized that not being back-lit makes it really easy on the eyes, she gave in and bought me some stock. (Which, BTW, is doing quite nicely.)

If what you want is a reader that you can use for email or simple web searches in a pinch, this is is the doohickey for you. If, on the other hand, you want it for gaming, music, videos, and the like, go get on the iPad wait list. Personally, I think there's plenty of room for both devices on the market._____

For the most part, I’ve found, women bloggers fall into three categories: “mommybloggers,” “ladybloggers,” and “women who blog like men.”

Phooey. (I love that word.)

Then she says,

I’m a woman who, more often than not, blogs like a man. Sure, I’ve sometimes been known to tread into the dreaded territory of “feelings” and “relationships,” posts I often regret having posted. I’m far more comfortable weighing in on topics and in ways I venture Wente would deem more “male”: current events, heated debates, racy subjects. I blog like a man.

That is the most sexist bunch of claptrap I've heard in a while, as it insinuates that if you engage your brain, you are acting like a man -- thus, if you feel or intuit, you are feminine (and stupid!); if you posit or use logic, you are masculine (and smart!).

Who believes that line of horse hockey in this day and age?

What the blogosphere needs is fewer Martha Stewarts and more Danica Patricks, more real debate and less positing women as the victims of a patriarchal society gone bloggy-wild, more men that blog like women and more women who blog like men.

Nah. What the blogosphere needs more of is writers who know and are comfortable with their own voice, regardless of age, gender, color or creed, and who are passionate about their subject(s). Really, it's those things that make a blog readable.

As for those three rigid slots she sees for women bloggers? I suggest she visit a BlogHerconference just once, and that would peel her eyeballs opened as to just how vast the borgaschmord of women bloggers is and how diverse their subject matters._____

Meet Sweetie Pete, a/k/a "Speedo Gonzalez." (Yes, if you embiggen enough, you'll see the Speedo over the jeans.) I need a caption for this photo so that I can LOLerize it, have it printed in at least 8"X10" format, frame it and send it down to Mexico with Speedo and CancunAnne to decorate their new joint under the palapa, looking out over the beach.

I see articles like this that lament the lack of library staff and resources, music and art programs, etc., and I think of the Princess Mom, who was so busy and influential in my own grade school:

While she wasn’t a huggy, kissy mother, she was an involved mother – room mother, den mother, picture lady, she also helped start up and run our elementary school’s library.

Instead of bemoaning what the state isn't giving us, maybe it's time to bring back volunteerism and bring moms and dads back into the classroom on a regular basis, at least until life gets back to "normal" -- whatever that may become.

I know mom was really hurt when she got told, "Thanks a lot for all you've done and don't let the door smack you in the ass on the way out," when the library was up and running and the school district decided to bring in a "real" librarian to run the joint... but she also had the satisfaction of knowing that the library wouldn't have existed in the first place without her and the handful of other moms who conceived it, stocked it, organized it and ran it first (and would probably still be running the darned thing today, given the chance)._____

Easter is coming. Time for Peeps on Parade! (Stop back, as more photos are added daily.)_____

Ear Worm of the Day:

_____

I recently had a dream that included Rahm Emanuel and William Shatner doing a skit wherein they were both channeling smart-ass dogs (black & tan, short coats, Doberman mixes) and Becky (with a boyfriend 10 years her junior in tow) in the same night. While you wrap your head around that odd combination, keep in mind that wasn't as nutty as this... and I don't speak out loud like this.

While economically behind the rest of Europe in many ways, Macedonians use cell phones over land lines by a ratio of 5.47:1. TV knocks radio right out of the park, 76 TV broad cast stations to 69 radio stations. There were approximately 847,900 internet users as of 2008, and at least one of them found my blog. How cool is that?

To all those "mistresses," "escorts," "girlfriends," "porn stars," etc. who think it's okay to come crawling out of the woodwork to ruin people's lives in the name of making a buck -- I refuse to read a thing about you, won't link to articles about you and refuse to discuss you any further after this post.

You are not worth my time.

You are beneath contempt.

By taking money in order to open your big yap and thereby harming people who certainly don't deserve it, you reveal yourselves as what you are: money-grubbing fame whores with no consciences.

I don't know why the media is giving you and your crass behavior a pass, but I don't and won't.

The man told investigators he was "hunting werewolves and chuds" who, in many cases, take the form of humans. Based on this information, the officers took the man to Harrison Memorial Hospital for an evaluation.

In an effort to eat a little healthier, I bought a bag of Mariani Premium Mixed Fruit... and it's so delicious I went to their website and ordered this, this and this, too! The mixed fruit is really moist and chewy and wonderful -- especially the plums. (And since I usually loathe prunes, that I can type that without making an awful face is nothing short of a miracle.) I can't wait to try the rest._____

My great grandmother always insisted you had to eat a peck of dirt before you die. Apparently she was onto something:

A little dirt may be good for the heart.

Analyzing data collected from thousands of children over two decades in the Philippines, researchers have concluded that a healthy dose of germs and pathogens during infancy reduced cardiovascular inflammation in adulthood — a precursor to heart attacks and strokes.

"It raises the intriguing possibility that higher levels of exposure to infectious microbes early in life may, in some way, protect you against cardiovascular disease," said Thom McDade, 41, an associate professor of anthropology at Northwestern University who co-authored the study.

Even The Homeless Guy says I shouldn't give to panhandlers. Following me too closely, getting too close to my purse and whining about being hungry only makes me want to get away from you as quickly as possible. Telling me you're a former University of Chicago professor who personally knows Barack Obama? Dude! That's the biggest turn-off of all. Go. Away. I don't need the reminder that we're all going to end up in your shoes after bankrupting ourselves with the health care bill that just passed thanks to your hero.

Sincerely,

Omnibus Driver_____

Let the boys do their NCAA brackets. I'm doing the fashion fug brackets here, instead. Much mo bettah fun and far less stressful._____

Let me get this straight. We're going to be gifted with a health care plan written by a committee whose chairman says he doesn't understand it, passed by a Congress that hasn't read it but exempts themselves from it, to be signed by a president who also hasn't read it and who smokes, with funding administered by a treasury chief who didn't pay his taxes, to be overseen by a surgeon general who is obese, andfinanced by a country that's broke.

I am sympathetic. However... here's the problem, as I see it: These kids are not being gunned down; they're gunning each other down. The problem starts in the home, and change also needs to start in the home. Standing in the street and praying in front of cameras won't fix anything; being present every day and parenting your own kids well will.

_____

I'm sorry, but $16 million would be better spent on teachers' salaries in this state right now. This is just one more example of governmental decision making processes that care more about pleasing "popular" agendas than actually fulfilling the mandate of educating children in this state. Oh, well. Dick and Jane may not be educated in Illinois, but, by golly, they'll be fashionably fit.

_____

The Illinois Democratic party moves on to the finals in Dem Lt. Governor Candidate Idol next Saturday. Too bad the voters can't vote online or text their votes for their favorites. Oh, wait! They did that already. Oops! My bad.

Maybe not, but a dear friend of mine who works for the IRS informed me Friday night that the IRS has been champing at the bit to begin hiring not hundreds, but thousands, of new IRS agents to do nothing but ensure that businesses and individuals alike are complying with the new law, and that hiring will commence immediately on passage of the legislation. [Update: Here's more proof.]

[snip] The study did, however, come up with one icky way bigger models can be used to actually influence product sales: “if a normal-size woman sees moderately heavy images in ads for weight-loss products, she might feel overweight and be more inclined to buy a diet plan or gym membership.” Basically, use plus-sized models to make women feel bad enough about themselves that they spend more money on gym memberships and diet products. [The Cut]

What do you think? Do ads with bigger models make you feel better or worse about yourself?

When it's models like these, they just want to make me go shopping for one of everything in their catalog, because I know I'm going to look and feel wonderful... and that's good, because I'm already educated, unlike Dick and Jane.

I have already entered a zero for the midterm for each of you who blew it off. If you want that zero changed into something else, be bloody sure you get that test taken before your time is up. After I place your test in the Testing Center, the rest is entirely up to you. If you don’t get yourself up there, the zero stands.

If you allow that zero to stand, you will need to present yourself to the registrar to withdraw from the class. You’ll also be required to pay back your financial aid.

Sincerely, Professor Had-It-Up-To-Here with the lot of you.

P.S. Students who showed up on the proper day get bonus points, which will be added at the end of the semester. Also? These students rock. They’re awesome, while you’re. . . . well, never mind. It was an antonym. I hope you had a good time in Cancun.

Wagah is the only road crossing the India/Pakistan international border, and is famous for the "lowering of the flag" and gate closing ceremony each evening. It is fascinating, as the military uniforms differ little except for color and the marching and posturing has all the color and aggression of a cock fight:

Fascinating!

(Who knew that a daily spin through my site meter stats would turn out to be so much fun and educational?)

Fess Parker, one of my childhood heroes, not once, but twice over, has passed away. If you are of my generation, you knew the words to both these theme songs by heart, and you cried your eyes out to the third:

I received my census packet in the mail today. I filled it out and mailed it right back in, before I'd lose it or misplace it. I want to be counted.

I have used census data from the 19th and 20th century in my genealogy projects. It turns up some interesting facts: children that you didn't know existed (and probably died), relatives that moved to a town for a short while, or off to parts unknown. It tells a story of where a person was every ten years from birth to death.

I got to thinking about my own "footprint" on this Earth. Since I am a zero baby born in 1960 (we won't discuss the unpleasant event that's coming up this summer), it got me thinking where I was on each of those census years.

And he looks back and lists where he was in each of those years. Then he asks the interesting question:

How about you? What's your census footprint? Where where you on those zero years?

It's no secret that my own life has taken some *ahem* interesting turns. My own census footprint?

1960: A toddler, living with the Princess Mom and Darling Daddy in Parma Heights, Ohio. Beloved Brother was a year away from becoming more than just a twinkle in their eyes.

1980: Pregnant and not a clue how to fix things but really good at keeping my own secret, Zeta Tau Alpha house, Western Illinois University, Macomb, IL. Shelby, my Shepherd/Lab mix was also knocked up. Scaryville.

2000: Still happily divorced, living with my clowder of Devon Rex in my own condo at 6251 E. Sheridan Road, Chicago, Illinois.

2010: At peace, pet-less (unless you count the dust bunnies), living in my own apartment in Des Plaines, Illinois and thinking about moving back into Chicago. My daughter has been in my life since December of 2006 and I'm on the cusp of becoming a Nana for the first time. Life is good.

The video shows a Metra express train approaching the North Chicago station in a light morning fog as several people dart across the tracks. The horn is still blaring as Blanca Villanueva-Sanchez jogs across cradling her goddaughter.

Then Villanueva-Sanchez and the baby fall from view.

You know, sometimes you need to have it graphically clear why you need to obey railroad crossing signals. Go here and watch the whole sickening thing. Show it to your children. Show it to anyone you know who has ever run across a track in front of an oncoming train because they were afraid of being late.

If you insist on being recklessly stupid, at least don't involve a child -- not your own, and especially not somebody else's child.

I know I harp on this a lot, but, as the video above illustrates, it's never enough. Being a little bit late -- even being a lot late -- is not worth the risk. In this case, two families will never, ever be the same.

I play in a band, we're the best in the landWe're big in both Chelsea and FranceI play one mean guitar and then score at the barThere's a line of chicks waiting for their chanceSo come on now honey, I'll make you feel prettyThese other gals mean nothing to meLet's finish these drinks and be gone for the night'Cause I'm more than a handful, you'll see

[Chorus:]So kiss me, I'm shitfacedI'm soaked, I'm soiled and brownin the trousers, she kissed meAnd I only bought her one round

I can bench press a car, I'm an ex football starwith degrees from both Harvard and YaleGirls just can't keep up, I'm a real love machineI've had far better sex while in jailI've designed the Sears Tower, I make two grand an hourI cook the world's best duck flambeI'll take the pick of the litter, girls jockey for meI don't need these lines to get laid

[Chorus]

I'm a man of the night, a real ladies delightSee my figure was chiseled from stoneOne more for the gal then I'll escort her homeCome last call, I'm never aloneI've a house on the hill with a red water bedThat puts Hugh Heffnor's mansion to shameWith girls by the pool and Italian sports carsI'm just here in this dump for the game

[Chorus x2]

Ahh, fuck it. Who am I shitting?

I'm a pitiful sight, and I ain't all that brightI'm definitely not chiseled from stoneI'm a cheat and a liar, no woman's desireI'll probably die cold and alone

But just give me a chance, 'cause deep down insideI swear I got a big heart of goldI'm a monogamous man, no more one night standsCome on, honey, let me take you home

Remember The Choo-Choo? Seems Vince Vaughn was shooting there a couple of nights ago... just a wee three blocks from the Depot de Omnibus. I'd get all excited about that, but he always looks like he could use a shower, a shave and a good night's sleep... and that's never been my cup of tea.

Ah, well..._____

Received from my dear buddy Mr. Bill, this made me howl because I actually own and rely on a talking alarm clock... but not like this one:

After closing time at the bar, a drunk was proudly showing off his new apartment to a couple of his friends.

He led the way to his bedroom where there was a big brass gong and a mallet.

“What's up with the big brass gong?” one of his guests asked.

“It's not a gong - it's a talking clock,” the drunk replied.

“A talking clock? Seriously?” asked his astonished friend.

“Yup,” replied the drunk.

“How's it work?” the friend asked, squinting at it.

“Watch,” the drunk replied.

He picked up the mallet, gave the gong an ear-shattering pound and stepped back.

The three stood looking at one another for a moment.

Suddenly someone on the other side of the wall screamed, "You asshole! It's three-fifteen in the morning!”

(Ear worms hit me every once in a while, and some are easier to shake loose of than others.)

So I was thinking about his concern and realized that the last time I'd had an an unshakeable ear worm was back in 2004... and suddenly, the good folks from Butt Drugs cleared out and the Irish Rovers moved in for a long visit:

(And, for what it's worth, if I ever had to spend advertising dollars, these nutballs are the first guys I'd call. They may not make artistic ads. Or classy ads. But, by Godfrey, they make ads that you'll NEVER forget.)

By and large I agree with the Fug Girls... but I think they indulged in a wee bit too much post-Oscar bubbly, because this is nothing but fug -- a Goodwill prom dress shrouded in Martha Stewart drapery sheers, with accessories by Menards. $350??? I could have done the same damned thing for $35 and had change enough for In-N-Out Burgers... for two.